"Sometimes in the still moments of our haphazard lives, we stumble upon a recognition. It’s impalpable but strong, like a memory from long past. Its remnants lie under mounds of daily routines and outward facing preoccupations. As soon as we acknowledge its subtle presence, it takes hold pulling us back to a place long forgotten. An ether region that newborns and the dying inhabit caught between the state of being and unbeing." [EXCERPT FROM "TOM"]
My son and I were walking along the craggy shoreline in Hawaii. He was telling me about an essay he was writing for his 7th grade literature class, print books vs. e-books. We weighed the pros and cons of both. His father, a traditionalist on this topic ingrained in our son the tactile connection with printed books. I, on the other hand appreciated the convenience and tidiness of ebooks. Ba’alat Gebal, the goddess of Byblos must have been eavesdropping, for 10 yards away where the base of the jetty meets the ocean, a book awaited us lying in shallow tide. Its pages flowed in a haunting dance, a beauty which can only be produced by nature.
My son, ever curious immediately scrambled down the jetty rocks, took off his shoes and carefully approached the book. I watched him, marveling at his adventurous spirit. I taught him well. He gently turned the leather bound hard cover to see the title: "The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe", he said with reverence, understanding at the tender age of 11 the serendipity of the circumstance. His father taught him well. I didn’t need to tell him to leave things as they were. He knew. But he did want a token, this visual impression lest one day in the future he forget the feel of a printed book.